


A New Tradition

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, seasonal depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: When winter and turning thirty conspire to sour Yuutarou's mood toward his favorite holiday, his boyfriend and their friends collude to pick his spirits back up in the most absurd way possible.





	A New Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> This is a day late for KinKage Day (12/9), but it's never a bad day for domestic kinkage fluff.

The click of chopsticks is the only sound in the kitchen as the apartment’s residents host a longtime friend for dinner. Yuutarou, the architect of their meal, flits his gaze back and forth between his boyfriend and their visitor, waiting for any signs of displeasure with their food. They never do, but there’s a first time for everything, he ponders as he plucks at his own plate.

Dinner plays out quietly, with Akira offering to clear away the dishes while Tobio dutifully starts the washing up. The cleanup efforts well in hand, Yuutarou heads for the couch to prepare for the barrage of Disney films Akira had brought over for the evening. He has no idea if Tobio is into stuff like that, but a soft part of Yuutarou looks forward to the protagonist coming out on top without fail.

He sighs at that thought.

For most of his formative years, Yuutarou recalls his mother keeping only a passing knowledge of the news. “So much bad stuff happens, it’s too hard to look at it all the time,” she had said. After hitting thirty this year, Yuutarou thinks he finally understands what she means.

An entire year of international nonsense has left Yuutarou bone tired, and with the early sunsets and relentless rain the past few weeks, he isn’t in much of a mood for anything but existing. He’s not even in the mood for Christmas.

A few scraps of the holiday are littered around the apartment, but for the first time for as long as he can remember, Yuutarou isn’t the one who hung them. He knows Tobio has noticed his waning mood, even if he hasn’t said anything. Yuutarou suspects the sporadic sprigs of holly and the tiny artificial tree on the kotatsu are an effort to bring him back from his funk.

It’s also probably why Akira had informed him that he would be coming over with barely a few hours’ notice. He’s always the first person Tobio asks for advice when he doesn’t know what to do in terms of their relationship. Yet no matter how many times Akira has declared that he’s not Tobio’s gay Yoda, he never fails to give him a push in the right direction.

Tobio and Akira soon follow him over to the couch, and Yuutarou budges himself into Tobio’s side, happy for the arm that loops around his shoulders. He knows he’s been moody and probably a bad boyfriend and housemate, but Tobio hasn’t pushed him to talk about it or got mad when Yuutarou doesn’t have the will to do much other than eating and sleeping.

As expected, Disney movies stretch on well into the night, and Yuutarou can feel some of the fog lift. He even starts getting into it around the time Tobio falls asleep sitting up, with a little trickle of drool escaping the corner of his mouth.

He and Akira aren’t far behind, and Yuutarou wakes up close to dawn with a crick in his neck and eyelids that feel like they’re made of lead. With a sigh, he pries himself from his warm cocoon on the couch to start a pot of coffee.

The smell of it draws Akira into the kitchen, yawning and with his hair in disarray. “Morning,” Yuutarou murmurs, handing over the first mug. “Thanks for coming over, by the way. I think I needed a mellow night like that.”

Akira nods and sips at his coffee, sweetened to death and almost blond with cream. “It was Kageyama’s idea. He’s worried about you.”

“I know, I —” Yuutarou sighs and pours his own coffee. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wish I could figure it out so I can stop making him wonder if it’s his fault. He does that sometimes.”

Humming around the rim of his cup, Akira blows on the surface of his coffee before taking a sip. “It’s weird, being here in December and not being assaulted by tinsel and bad piano music.”

Yuutarou wrinkles his nose. “It’s not _bad_. It’s just . . .” He drinks his coffee too fast and scalds his tongue, which fits the funk he’s been in for the past few months. “I’m just not feeling it this year. I know Tobio only does it because I do, but I feel bad I’m so unmotivated.”

Akira eyes him over his cup for a long, quiet minute. Finally, he says, “Have you considered just doing something else?”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes, Akira sits down his cup and leans across the table to flick Yuutarou in the forehead. “Don’t do Christmas the way you normally do. Do something different.”

Yuutarou hums, scouring his brain for alternatives to his usual favorite holiday but coming up empty. “I have no idea what you mean,” he admits, giving Akira a bashful shrug.

“Instead of doing gooey, sappy stuff like you usually do, try something fun and low pressure.” Akira pulls out his phone and flicks through a few pages before a wicked smile streaks across his lips. “This is perfect.”

Leaning in, Yuutarou waits for Akira to elaborate after he gets through basking in the glow of his alleged victory. His patience is rewarded soon. “You two should do gag gifts this year.”

Gag gifts is the last thing Yuutarou had expected to pop out of Akira’s mouth, but he finds himself strangely compelled by the idea. “I’m listening.”

“Nothing shows how much you know someone like picking out something you know they will hate but, you know, in a funny way.” Akira waggles his eyebrows. “Tell me to my face that you have no idea what to get him that will make his face do that thing it does when he’s confused and a little constipated-looking.”

The mental image makes Yuutarou guffaw, but Akira’s point still stands. “I actually have a few ideas already. I don’t know if it’ll solve anything, but I’m willing to give it a try if he is.”

Yuutarou’s imagination stews for the next half an hour until Tobio finally stumbles into the kitchen. He snares the milk bottle from the refrigerator and blindly feels around for a glass. His eyes are open just enough to skirt around familiar obstacles with ease.

It’s a scene he’s lived out every day for the better part of a decade, and Yuutarou still can’t get enough of it.

“Ganbatte,” Akira whispers as he takes his own coffee and heads back to the couch.

Alone with Tobio in the kitchen, Yuutarou thinks back on all the little gestures of support Tobio has left for him in an effort to lift his spirits and knows he has to do something for himself, as well.

“Eh, Tobio, there’s something I want to try out this year.” Tobio slumps into the chair next to Yuutarou and peeks through tousled bangs, blue eyes shining with interest.

Yuutarou swallows hard and takes the plunge. “Let’s give each other one gift, but make it a special kind.”

Tobio frowns. “But I thought we were trying to save money.”

Waving off Tobio’s doubts, Yuutarou laughs and shakes his head. “No, not the expensive kind of special. The funny kind.” At Tobio’s blank stare, Yuutarou explains, “Let’s give each other gag gifts. Something that we would both objectively hate but also find funny.”

He can see the sparks of thought bouncing around in Tobio’s brain, but a bob of the head confirms that this Christmas together will be something new to both of them.

 

 _This is harder than I thought it would be_ , Yuutarou says to Akira through a text. _I know what he hates, but not in a funny way._

Akira sends him a poop emoji and a taunting, _Yeah you do. Thing about something that agitates him irrationally._

Yuutarou looks around the packed department store and scratches at his temple. “Fake lemon flavor?”

A woman passing by shoots him a questioning look behind her shopping cart, but Yuutarou groans and turns to his phone once again. This time, however, he bypasses Akira in his contacts and scrolls down to one he hasn’t used in a regrettable amount of time.

_Hey, Hinata! I have a super big favor to ask. Feel free to say no, though. I feel like a tool breaking radio silence just to ask for something._

The response is nearly immediate, with a long stream of partial sentences extolling the life of a pro volleyball player. The memory of Shouyou’s exuberance rushes back from the few sporadic but remarkable times they have mingled since they met. He almost doesn’t want to interrupt, but before he can remind Shouyou of the reason for the message, he receives an abrupt, _Enough of that. What can I do for you?_

Yuutarou debates outlining the situation, but instead, he asks, _What stuff do you remember makes Tobio irrationally irritated?_

There is no reply, and Yuutarou checks his phone three times to make sure the message actually sent. When it does come, however, it comes in a tidal wave.

_Me. Tsukishima. English. Fake lemon flavor. Overcooked noodles. Peanut anything. Green. Probably a bunch more stuff, too. Oh, and the Grand King._

“The who?” Yuutarou mumbles, looking the list over time and time again. The intel is good; there are a lot of familiar items there. Yet none of it screams hilarity in the slightest. The only thing he can’t quantify is whoever or whatever a Grand King is. Hopefully it’s useful.

His text alert goes off again. _I just realized you probably have no idea what that means. It’s what I used to call Oikawa-san when I was a first year._

“That’ll do it,” Yuutarou muses aloud. _Thanks. I’ll think about it._

Now, what to do with that information.

Yuutarou wanders aimlessly through the department store, searching for anything he can use. His gaze falls on a rack of what have to be the ugliest sweaters ever manufactured when it hits him.

Eyes glued to the sweaters, Yuutarou dials another ill-used number. When the line comes to life and its owner greeting him enthusiastically, he can’t fight off a sly smile. “Hey, Iwaizumi-san! I have a favor to ask. It’s really weird, but hear me out.”

As he rattles off his fledgling plan, Yuutarou enjoys the tingle of excitement that brews in his belly. Akira was right; this is exactly what he needs.

 

The strains of instrumental Christmas carols permeate the apartment from the generic stereo on the kitchen counter, and Yuutarou hums along as he frosts the cake he has spent the better part of the morning baking. Behind him, Tobio arranges a bouquet of flowers in an ill-used vase to place at the center of their Christmas Eve dinner together.

Hands stilling, Yuutarou closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m glad we’re going this. I’m sorry I’ve been so cranky. It’s hard to stop thinking about every crappy thing I see and hear.” He harrumphs and swipes up a dollop of icing with his finger, bringing it to his mouth and groaning at the rich flavor.

Tobio pokes around his shoulder and collects a lump of frosting of his own. “There are a lot of good things, too.” He darts his tongue out and dashes it away. “You always make sure I remember.”

Yuutarou grins and leans into Tobio. “Yeah. Thanks for returning the favor.” He props his chin on Tobio’s shoulder. “You wanna start dinner before we attack the cake too early?”

Together, they cobble together dinner and take their time eating way too much of it. Content and too full to do anything else, they sprawl out at the kotatsu where two gift boxes sit unopened. They share a look and reach for their respective presents.

“Well, here goes.” Yuutarou holds the box up for inspection, taking in its size and weight. Too heavy to be a garment, too light to be a book. His finger traces the lid of the box he’s sure Tobio didn’t wrap himself. He suspects it may be Akira’s work.

A familiar tingle settles in Yuutarou’s chest, a scrap of the joy he usually finds in any family related holiday wriggling back into place. His own hands freeze on the lid of the box. Tobio raises a brow, and Yuutarou’s cheeks warm. “Would you, uh, mind opening yours first? This is my favorite part.”

Tobio’s face drops into a resolute mask, and he bobs his head. His focus hones in on the flat box in front of him and he eases open the top.

Yuutarou sucks in an anxious breath as Tobio unfurls the sweater nestled inside, and his cheeks bulge with barely restrained giggling when Tobio’s entire face pinches into a frown at the sight of Oikawa Tooru’s face emblazoned on the sweater, complete with a bright yellow lollipop.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” He holds the sweater away from himself. “He’s staring at me.”

Unable to contain his mirth, Yuutarou bursts into a fit of giggles. His heart skips a few beats when Tobio gives him that crooked little almost-smile of his, even while he tugs on the monstrous sweater he hopes his old senpai will never find out about.

His attention turns to the box in his lap, and somewhere deep in his gut, he is absurdly curious about what Tobio thinks Yuutarou will truly hate. Tobio knows Yuutarou more than he knows or understands anyone else.

Curiosity wills out, and Yuutarou closes his eyes and plucks the lid off the box. He counts to three under his breath, and when he looks down at his gag gift, he isn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely is not this.

Mounted onto the lid of a huge tub of cheap hair gel, a monument to Yuutarou’s misguided youth, is a shallot with his old hairdo and a cartoon version of his face drawn onto it with black permanent marker.

Yuutarou holds it up and rotates it in his hands, looking at every scrap of detail, complete with the little scar below his right ear from an unfortunate run in with a table corner about five years before.

He throws back his head and laughs until his eyes water and his face is red. When he can finally eke out most of a proper breath, he wheezes, “Oh my god, this is fantastic.” He turns to Tobio, who is positively grinning by Tobio standards, and adoration surges through him. Blindly setting the . . . whatever it is on the kotatsu, Yuutarou frames Tobio’s face in his hands and pulls them together for a searing, breath-stealing kiss.

Tobio puts a hand over Yuutarou’s on his cheek and threads their fingers together. “It’s good to see you happy again.”

“It’s good to feel like this again.” A stab of guilt for his recent foul humors quickly ebbs away as Tobio straddles Yuutarou’s lap and fixes him with a demanding kiss.

Groaning, Yuutarou hoists both of them up and onto the couch to celebrate his renewed spirit — just Yuutarou, Tobio, and Oikawa-san.

 

**_The Next Morning_ **

The bustle of the Iwaizumi family home is a welcome burden for Hajime as he helps his mother fix Christmas dinner for both their family and the Oikawas. The two families have shared this holiday for decades, switching back and forth each year to keep it fresh.

He is just finishing scraping mats of flour from his hands when his text alert sounds. Sure it’s just Tooru texting him for another melon soda because he’s too lazy to get up and get it himself, Hajime ignores it. At the ripe old age of thirty-two, he’s sure Tooru can manage a beverage on his own.

However, once he settles down for a much needed respite, Hajime plucks his phone from his pocket and perks up when he sees the name on the alert: Kindaichi Yuutarou.

It has to have something to do with the insane request Hajime had received from his old kouhai a couple of weeks before. Tooru had not even questioned why Hajime suddenly had the desire to take a picture of him, though he had been suspicious of the lemon lollipop.

Hajime opens the text, and he can’t stop the howl of laughter when he sees the picture.

It’s a simple selfie-style snap of Yuutarou and Tobio, the oddest but happiest couple he knows. Tobio is wearing a monstrous sweater with a giant print of Tooru’s face plastered to the front. Yuutarou’s hair is sticking straight up in the air like the days of old while he holds what looks almost like a trophy, complete with a shallot drawn to look just like him. The resemblance is almost uncanny.

Hajime saves the picture to every cloud he has, hoping to never lose this little scrap of cheer from two guys who had to work damn hard to get it. Not to mention the blackmail value it will have when Tooru least expects it. But that’s not important . . . much.

He returns to the kitchen all smiles, and his mother notices the change. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Yeah.” Hajime quirks a smile and grabs a skillet from the drying rack by the sink. “Just got some really good news.”

She grins and bumps his shoulder with hers. “That’s great, honey. There isn’t nearly enough of that going around these days.”

Recalling the heartfelt, borderline heartbreaking conversation with Yuutarou two weeks before, the comment hit close to home. “Agreed. I think I’ll hang onto this one, though.”

And he will. If either of his old kouhai or even Hajime himself needs a reminder, that happy little snap of a memory will always be there to welcome them back out of the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of the Oikawa ugly sweater belongs to Tersa/blulious. I'm fortunate to have been egged on to put it into words haha.


End file.
